


You're gonna make it little brother

by watergator



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Death, Gen, Hurt, Major Character Injury, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6591091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watergator/pseuds/watergator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So after yesterdays episode, The Ever-Burning Fire, I have seen quite a lot of speculation and fan theories about poor Michelangelo, since lately he has been acting 'hero' putting himself in danger (which scares me lol)<br/>So for the pain and/or the entertainment for you, I decided to write a little one shot :) Thanks to the group chat, 'Turtle Hell' I haven't been able to not think about this all day, so here it is :) </p>
<p>Also, a small warning as there is slight gore but its not too heavy but read at your own risk </p>
<p>Enjoy!<br/>Much love !!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mikey is shoving Splinter out of the way, he's face to face with the Shredder and he suddenly goes cold as the blades pierce his plastron, and his eyes widen, his pupils are mere pinpricks and he can hear the echoing of his own laboured breathing in his head and the grunt as Splinter is shoved to the ground. _Alive_.   
  
And just as fast as they went in, he retreats them back, the sickening sound of blood gushing and the squelch of guts that have been impaled, are heard in the silence of the night - and it's not until then that Mikey realised that they were the only thing keeping him upright, as his legs wobble and he drops to his knees with a **thud**. The world goes blurry through pained tears but as he sway sideways he hears the blood curdling scream of his father and of his brothers.  
  
He instantly recognised the yell from him father, from the night when he lost his beloved Tang Shen, like a bad case of deja vu, he smiled slightly as his eyes begin to droop because he hasn't even realised the irony in it all.   
Soon his head is in the lap of his father and he can't help but laugh inwardly at what he's done, how it would have been his father in this exact position. It feels like years before his brothers reach him, yet they were most likely there by his side in split seconds, and they're sobbing. He's seen them cry before - they grew up together, but he had never seen they sob so heartedly like this before, but the way they were in some uncontrollable mess of emotions gave Mikey a clue of how bad this really was.  
  
They were gathered around him, hands gently pressed over his wound which was now a fountain of blood. He watches them move through blurred vision, and it feels like he's underwater, he sees April clinging onto Casey, a wreck, and he has no idea where Shredder is, but from the small blood splatter on Leo's face which is a pattern of dark red dots across one cheek, and the stained Katana, he only has one guess. He feels himself being lifted, gathered into loving arms as they talk to him, but he hasn't even said a word, let alone a cry or a scream, and he doesn't know why.   
  
He wants to say _'I'm okay'_ but he feels so heavy, like deadweight in his brothers arms as they bob along running - no, _flying_ , to their home, but he feels his heart get lighter and lighter and the pain slowly fades, and he can see the stars from where he was being cradled, and the concentration in Raphael's face, tears flying behind him from his green emerald eyes that were swimming with pure terror. He watches the world and everything around him, as he feels himself get lighter and lighter, no longer tied to the planet he calls home and he heard, his hearing muggy and slow, the soothing voice of his older brother,  
  
"You're gonna make it little brother"  
  
Which was some sort of cruel twist of fate because that was the last thing he heard before he left this world.   
  
The last thing he heard before Michelangelo died.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to add a chapter since I wanted to kinda involve his bros and all and I could imagine Raph taking it pretty hard since his poor baby brother died in his arms, so here is his take on it all one month later:) 
> 
> I *might* add more chapters for the others, depends if you guys want it haha so tell me if you like this and I'll write some more up for Leo and Donnie and maybe even Splinter (I cannot for the love of me write him ahhh) 
> 
> So yeah - comment if you guys want more and I will try and find the time to do so and leave some kudos or whatever:)
> 
> Much love !!

It had been exactly one month since Michelangelo had passed. One month without hearing his voice, one month without his touch, one month without his warmth and happiness, one month without an endless burning fire of endless love. One month without their little ball of sunshine that they called, little brother.  
  
Raphael heaved as he let his left arm swing, hitting the punching dummy, letting it swing for a second, before using his other arm jab an upper cut, his fist making hard contact – but it was the pain that he loved, the pain he felt he deserved, it was these hands that last held his little brother, it was these hands that he died in.  
  
He felt the sweat roll of his thick skin, the heat almost burning him, he didn’t know how long he had been at this for, rhythmic punches that seemed to echo softly off the walls of the pit room.  
  
The TV was turned off, which seemed alien in the normally vibrant room, but then Raph remembered that the thing that made it that way was gone.  
  
His heart pounded from the inside of his chest, almost as if it wanted to escape somehow.  
His jaw tightened as he furrowed his brow bone, trying to use every inch of concentration on his target – he didn’t want to think about anything else.  
His muscles screamed in protest and he felt the shake in his legs from where they had been standing for too long.  
  
But he didn’t care. He could work and stand and breathe and hurt and live.  
But Mikey couldn’t.  
  
So why the shell should he sit down and do nothing?  
He wasn’t going to rest, because it wasn’t fair.  
  
_It should have been me_ , was the words that constantly screamed in his head, hammering against his skull – a headache that would last forever until they day he died.  
  
His punches and landings became sloppy as he felt the exhaustion of not eating for days on end, sleepless nights, catching up on him as he fell to his knees.  
He was huffing in air, trying not to cry – because he hadn’t yet. It had been a month and he had not cried once, not since that night.  
  
And Raphael didn’t know why but maybe it was the crippling anger that seemed to course through his veins like a poison.  
Or maybe it was because he was so blinded by the denial he knew he seemed to still be in.  
He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t was to believe that it was his baby brother, a boundless ball of energy, happiness and so young still, was lying still, heart stopped, soul gone, dead. On the infirmary table where Donatello pleaded to a corpse to just **_‘get up’_**.  
  
And yet Raph still didn’t want to understand, didn’t want to think about it.  
It hurt too much.  
  
But it was the physical pain he put himself through that seemed to have balanced it out, the pain he would get when he beat himself up, or better yet, when he let Purple Dragons or stray Foot Soldiers do it for him, at least then he could feel something, anything but the weighty pain that lingered on his aching heart.  
  
Raph squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fog out the memory of that night when he had his brother, who seemed so small, almost like a child, in his arms, clinging onto each and every precious breath that he got, until Raph stopped hearing the raspy breaths and the shaking stopped.  
  
They were so close to home, from the breakneck speed he was running, feeling like his feet were on fire by the contact they had with the rooftops, yet he still couldn’t get back in time.  
But that didn’t stop him from running.  
  
Michelangelo was dead in his arms a good two minutes before they had reached their home, and he didn’t tell Donnie or Leo, heck, even Master Splinter about it until the found out for themselves, when they were pumping his chest, small peas and begs and prayers - because Raph had no idea what he was supposed to say.  
  
He didn’t want to know, so he ignored it and just hoped that Donnie could bring him back. But he was wrong – because Mikey never came back.  
  
He opened his eyes, tears free, and held out shaking hands in front of him, looking down.  
  
They tried to revive him for hours. It seemed to drag on, until a weary Splinter spoke, his voice was raw and something awful, he laid a paw on Leo, who swung at him, screaming at the news, because he didn’t want to hear what his Father had to say.  
  
But the intended punch was caught in the shaking paw of his emotional father and soon Leo found himself collapsing into his chest, heaving out long sobs that echoed, bouncing off the walls of the sewers, loud enough for the whole of New York to hear, but Raph didn’t care.  
  
And it wasn’t until he looked down he realised that he was covered in blood. Too much blood – his brother’s life, spilled carelessly over him, staining his green skin, like an ugly scar.  
The throaty cry from Donatello made the red banded turtle whip his head up – his brother was leaning over Mikey, his shoulders wracked with sobs as his body shook and trembled, but Raphael couldn’t hold him like he so desperately wanted to – the numbness spread over his body like wild fire, feet glued to the spot as he took uneven breaths. He felt his eyes burn up like a desert – dry and hot, but he bit them back, holding up shaking hands in front of his face and he examined the blood that they were soaked in. The blood of his brother. It smelt awful and stale, and he hated that, he always thought that a kid like Mikey was made up of sugar and something sweeter – not this disgusting dark liquid that he was now half emptied from. He felt his stomach churn as he continued to look at his hands, the **redness** standing out on his hands like a sore thumb against the green of his skin,  
  
_‘Red is sorta your colour bro’_  
  
It stung, hearing the echo of his brother in his voice, memories playing like a ghost in his head.  
  
Part of him wanted to shut it off, to ignore it – but the other part wanted to cling onto it so bad, because it felt like the only comfort in the entire world right now.  
  
But the unfamiliarity of the wet salty feeling against his hot checks, startled the turtle – not realising that he was now crying on his knees, breathing hitched, his brothers, the ones that were still alive, and his Father else were, dealing with the crippling pain and exhaustion of grief in their own ways, but now Raphael was curled up, with only himself as company in the cold silence of the pit that was once filled with the giggles and chattering voice of one of Raphael's most precious thing on Earth, as he cried silently, tears slipping down his face, his heart aching with every agonising beat - for what he wouldn’t give for just the warm comfort of his little brother just _one more time_.


End file.
